


my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

by funsizedshaw



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Established Thasmin, F/F, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: Revolution of the Daleks, soft top!13, yaz has a massive praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funsizedshaw/pseuds/funsizedshaw
Summary: “I miss you.”“...oh.”“I miss your hands and your lips. The way you always felt so soft under me. I miss your tongue between my-”“Yaz.” A strangled whisper.“I miss you so fucking much, Doctor. You’re here, you’re back, and I still miss you.”
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

**Author's Note:**

> hiii not much plot here just angsty phone sex with a slightly hopeful ending.
> 
> please note that they're both slightly drunk here. not enough to be in dub or non-con territory, but enough to lower their inhibitions. if this is something that bothers you then please be aware it is the bulk of the fic. 
> 
> there's also brief autoerotic asphyxiation. 
> 
> title from ivy by taylor swift

It’s two months to the day they found out the Doctor was alive.

Eleven days and somewhere around nine hours to the day they finally got rid of the damned Daleks.

One hundred and twenty three hours to the moment Ryan and Graham had told the Doctor they wanted to stay on Earth.

Fifty two minutes since Yaz had found a bottle of wine in the TARDIS kitchen and taken it back with her to her room.

Yaz is 2.7 glasses deep into the bottle and her world is spinning pleasantly. Pleasant, unless you counted the twisting in her gut. Pleasant, unless you counted the tremor in her legs each time she thought about walking over to the Doctor’s room. Pleasant, unless you counted the splintering of her heart every time she replayed the series of events following the boys’ departure; an argument snowballing into a fight, culminating in icy, stone cold silence between her and the Doctor that neither had been inclined to break.

Until now, apparently.

She’s calling the Doctor before she can think about it, fingers typing out a series of digits memorised too long ago. The Doctor answers on the first ring, too quick before she can regret her actions and hang up.

“Yaz? Thought you were in your room. Is everything o-”

“I miss you.”

“...oh.”

“I miss your hands and your lips. The way you always felt so soft under me. I miss your tongue between my-”

“Yaz.” A strangled whisper.

“I miss you so fucking much, Doctor. You’re _here_ , you’re _back_ , and I still miss you.”

“Yaz, you’re drunk.”

“So are you. I can hear that drawl. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your tells. What’s it this time? Ginger beer? Thelorian whiskey?”

“I-”

“C’mon Doctor. Just give me tonight. Not like we’ve never done this before. Y’don’t even have to leave your room, eh? Just here, on the phone. We can pretend it never happened in the morning.”

“Yaz. I...We shouldn’t.”

“Doctor. Y’want me to beg? ‘cos I will.”

“No. Not if you don’t wanna- God, I- _Yaz.”_

The keening desperation in the Doctor’s voice almost sends Yaz over the edge. She hasn’t even touched herself.

“Please Doctor. God, just. Please, babe. Just tonight. That’s all I’m asking.”

She knows she’s got her even before the Doctor lets out a resigned sigh. Pet names always were her weakness.

“Okay, okay. What colour are you Yaz?”

“Green. So green. I’m not even that drunk Doctor I swear.”

A mirthless chuckle comes across the line. “Yea, okay. Just, Yaz, please don’t hate me in the morning.”

“I could never hate you.”

A snort, this time.

“If you say so, Yaz.”

“Doctor, sweetheart, stop stalling. I’m so _wet_.”

Yaz hears a strangled moan and for a second she isn’t sure if she heard it through the phone or the wall.

“What are you wearing, Yaz?”

“My hoodie and underwear. Got a bit warm, earlier.”

“What underwear?”

A cheeky grin to herself. “Saturday.”

The Doctor lets out a snort. “Didn’t think you’d still have the day of the week boxers.”

“Someone said they make my arse look great.”

“They really do. Can you take ya hoodie off for me, Yaz?”

“Y-yea.” A fumble. “It’s off.”

“Good girl.”

“... _fuck.”_

A knowing chuckle.

“You’re so good for me, Yaz. Amazin. Proper amazin.”

“Doctor,” she chokes out.

“Palm your breasts for me, please. Don’t touch your nipples yet.”

She’s reduced Yaz to a shuddering mess and that’s exactly how Yaz wants it.

She presses her hands to her breasts, squeezing and kneading. Hard. Rough. The way she knows the Doctor would if she were here instead of a ghost on the other side of a wall.

“Doctor...”

“I’m here, sunshine. Bet you look gorgeous right now, don’t ya? So beautiful for me, Yaz. Touch your nipples. Soft, kay? Just graze over them with your fingertips.”

She does as such, caressing dusky mounds with feather-light touches. So gentle it hurts. It _hurts_ and it’s not enough and–

“I need more. Doctor, I need more. Please. Doct–”

“Pinch them. Harder.”

Yaz whines as she does exactly what she’s told. No more or less than what the Doctor wants her to feel.

“You’re doing so well for me, Yaz. Pull them. Hard. Don’t let go until I say so.”

Yaz tugs her nipples up, holding them in a vice grip between her index finger and thumb. She keens, eyes sliding closed, pulling as hard as she can. Pain shoots through her, wrapping itself around her ribs, slick and sticky in her chest.

“God, fuck, Doctor.”

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, Yaz. Keep at it.”

Tears prickle at the corner of her eyes from the sharp, almost burning pain.

“Doct-”

“Let go.”

Yaz slumps back onto the bed. She hadn’t even realised that she’d arched off. Her fingers hover over her nipples, lightly trailing her nails over them, stuttering out halted gasps.

“Colour, Yaz?”

“Green.”

“Drag your nails down your stomach for me.”

Yaz swallows and does so, scraping her nails down her torso, picturing the Doctor hovering above her, short unpainted nails leaving little pinpricks of fire in their wake. She moans, straggled.

“Are you leaving marks like I would, Yaz?”

“Yea, I am. Fuck, Doctor.”

“Pull off ya underwear. Don’t touch just yet, alright? Not until I say you can.”

Yaz groans in relief, yanking her boxers off as quick as she can.

“Spread your thighs, Yaz.”

She whines, fists gripping the sheets under her as she controls her desperate urges, willingly bound to the Doctor’s command.

“Knees up.”

“Doctor...”

“I know Yaz, I know. _Fuck_ , you do what you’re told so well don’t ya? So good for me. Bet you look amazin right now with your legs open just for me. So wonderful. Absolutely perfect you are.”

The praise seeps into her bones like gasoline, sinking into every crevice and setting her nerves ablaze. She’s so far gone she can barely utter the Doctor’s name again, squirming into the sheets, fists clenched tight.

“One finger inside for me, Yaz. Don’t touch your clit. Not yet. That’s mine, okay?”

Yaz almost sobs as she slips a finger into wet, wanting heat. She clenches eagerly around the digit, needing more immediately.

“Babe. Need more.”

“Not yet. I want you desperate.”

“I already _am._ ”

The Doctor tuts, and it sends a spark of arousal straight to Yaz’s core. She digs her heels into the bed, clenching impossibly tight around her finger, desperate to be good, to not squeeze her thighs together when the Doctor hasn’t allowed it.

A few achingly long seconds after, the Doctor speaks.

“You can move your finger. Fuck yourself for me Yaz. Tug on your nipples with your other hand.”

Her hands move of their own accord, body instinctively obeying the Doctor’s command like it was made solely for that purpose. She’s forced to go slowly to avoid touching her clit, hand thrusting back and forth at a torturous pace, and whines to make her displeasure known.

“Doctor…”

“Hmm?”

“Need more…”

“I know sweetheart. And I’ll give you more eventually. Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

If Yaz were more sober, she would have registered the choked sob echoing across the tinny connection. If the Doctor were less drunk, she would have stifled it.

“Add another finger, Yaz.”

“Yes, yes- god _yes._ ”

The Doctor chuckles softly, the sound morphing into a moan halfway and Yaz’s breath hitches in her throat at the realisation.

“Doctor... Are you touching yourself?”

“Could you blame me? Y’sound so amazin. God. You’re so perfect, Yaz. So fucking perfect.”

The praise sends shocks of arousal coursing through Yaz’s body. Like it’s forgotten what it’s like to feel good. Forgotten how to feel anything apart from despair and violent, aching sorrow.

She debates the sensibility of her next words for scarcely a moment before they’re out of her mouth. “Doctor. Wanna touch you too...”

A beat of silence.

“Other hand on your throat Yaz. Squeeze lightly. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yea. Okay.”

“Good girl. Now squeeze harder. The way you know I would.”

“Wish it were you, Doctor.”

A long pause.

“Doctor.” A wheeze.

That she’s using the little bit of oxygen the Doctor’s allowed her to rasp out her name doesn’t go unnoticed. The realisation nestles itself deep into her heart, a thorn, a poisoned dart boring into her very being.

She chooses to ignore it and presses her finger against her carotid instead.

“Let go. Deep breaths for me Yaz.”

She greedily inhales, eager breaths at the Doctor’s behest.

“Are you still fucking yourself?”

Yaz nods before realising the Doctor can’t see her. “Yea, I am. Doctor, please.”

“Please what, Yaz?”

“Please I...I dunno just...please. Doctor, _please_.” Her voice is nearly a cry.

“Keep fucking yourself, Yaz. Let me hear you. I love the way you sound when you’re bein so good for me, d’you know that?”

Yaz sobs. Fingers driving as fast as she dares without making contact with her clit, heels digging into the bedspread, the hand loosely wrapped around her throat aches to tighten again.

“Do you want another finger, sweetheart?”

Unable to summon a coherent response, Yaz simply moans instead.

“Use your words, Yaz.”

“Yes, please. Another finger please, Doctor.”

“Have you touched your clit?”

“N-no. I didn’t, I swear. W-wanna be good for you.”

“You are sweetheart. So good for me. Always so good. My _best_ girl, aren’t ya? Go on, add another finger. But still no touching your clit, alright?”

“Yea, okay Doctor.”

Wet as she is, her ring finger slides easily alongside the other two into herself. Her cunt feels almost burning hot around them and Yaz clenches hard on reflex. She squeezes her eyes closed and imagines it’s the Doctor’s fingers inside her, driving slowly back and forth, excruciatingly slow to the point it might be cruel if Yaz wasn’t so desperate for the torturous teasing.

“How’re ya feelin Yaz? Still good?”

Yaz’s fingers falter as she catches the tremble of desire in the Doctor’s voice that she was too distracted to hide. She curls her fingers inside herself, scratching at her walls, trying every possible way to give herself the additional stimulation she craves.

“Good. So good. Fuck, ‘m so wet, Doctor. Dripping. Probably ruining the sheets.”

This time, the Doctor doesn’t bother even making an attempt to hide her need and Yaz hears the moan come through the line clear as day.

“ _Fuck._ Bet you look absolutely gorgeous right now. ‘m soaked too, Yaz. Fuck, you just. You get me like this so easily. Just picturin ya, lyin in bed all spread out for me. Rememberin what you taste like, how it’d feel when you’d yank on my hair when you’re close... I’m already _so_ close Yaz...”

The Doctor’s voice stutters and shakes through her ramble, Yaz hanging on to every word. It fuels her at the same time that it’s tearing her apart. The Doctor’s desperate desire for her, for _Yaz_ , warring with her misguided attempts at giving Yaz space after all the pain her disappearance had caused her.

Yaz didn’t _need_ space, she’d had more than enough of that over the past 10 months to last a fucking lifetime. And yet, she’d been unable to go against the Doctor’s wishes. Had told herself that perhaps the Doctor needed space too. Speculated that this was her way of letting Yaz down gently.

A hypothesis that didn’t make much rational sense, sure, but then again when had Yaz ever been rational when it came to the Doctor? Even her actions tonight had been borne out of an aching desperate need that had barely needed to be amplified by the alcohol running through her veins. Maybe she would regret the ramifications of this in the morning, but right now there was only one thing she wanted.

“Come for me, Doctor. Please.”

Silence envelops them as the Doctor comes, the only indication of her orgasm being her halting gasps culminating in a soft, broken moan. Wrist aching as she continues to pump slowly back and forth, Yaz listens to the laboured breaths coming across the tinny line.

If she closes her eyes she can almost pretend the Doctor’s right there, nestled on top of her, letting out warm puffs of air against her neck, boneless and uncharacteristically still in her post orgasm bliss. It wasn’t exaggeration to say Yaz could have laid there for eternity, her own desire a dull ache at the back of her mind.

Until the Doctor speaks and it all comes rushing back in full force.

“How’re you doin, sweetheart? Still hanging in there for me?”

Yaz whines. She _wants._ More than anything, she aches so deeply and fiercely for the release only the Doctor can grant her. She needs to come so badly she thinks she might shatter from the sheer arousal thrumming in every nerve.

“ _Doctor..._ ”

“You need to come, I know. You’re doing so well for me, Yaz. Such a good girl. Think you can hold on just a little bit longer?”

Twin flames of disappointment and desperation consume her whole even as Yaz whimpers her assent. The game they’ve been playing is all too familiar, and as much as Yaz longs to surrender to her body’s base desires, her need to please is far stronger. She’d hold herself on the edge all night if the Doctor desired. Her eventual release will only be all the more sweeter when she’s finally allowed it.

Her patience is rewarded far beyond her expectations when she hears a knock on the door. Frozen, she can only stare as it’s slowly pushed ajar and the Doctor peeks in hesitantly.

“I um, just now you said you wished I were with you...I wanted to- _fuck_ you’re _gorgeous_...Can I- Is this okay? I can go if y-”

The nervous babbling is a far cry from the assured demeanour the Doctor’d adopted over the phone, and Yaz feels her shock start to give way to familiar exasperation.

“Doctor, just come here and fuck me. _Please_.”

The Doctor doesn’t move for a second. Then, “Colour?”

“Green. Bright fucking green, _please_ Doctor.”

Like floodgates giving way to torrential waters, the Doctor practically lunges towards the bed with nary a trace of her previous apprehension. Settling herself between Yaz’s legs, she gazes reverently at her.

“Look at you, absolutely beautiful and desperate for me.”

Her hand settles on Yaz’s thigh, spreading her wider, and Yaz keens. She has no more words left to give save for fervent pleas.

“It’s okay Yaz, I’m here. I got you.”

The Doctor croons as she slowly pulls Yaz’s fingers out of her cunt, settling herself on her belly between Yaz’s legs as she does so. Yaz’s responding whine morphs into a moan as the Doctor replaces Yaz’s fingers with her own, easily slipping 3 knuckles deep into her. A hot mouth descends over Yaz’s cunt and she’s lost to the world.

Grabbing tight onto blonde locks, Yaz holds on as if for dear life as the Doctor licks and sucks and thrusts. It’s more attention than she’s received from the Doctor in what feels like eternity, and Yaz greedily soaks up every morsel of it. She’s careening towards a cliff’s edge at breakneck speed with absolutely nothing holding her back.

Eons of separation melt like snowflakes as the Doctor expertly turns Yaz into a writhing, trembling mess with her clever tongue. If Yaz had been more cognisant, the thought may have crossed her mind to be embarrassed of the desperate sounds she was making. As it is, the pleasure being wrung from her has overtaken every rational thought, leaving her gasping and begging for more.

Her orgasm is yanked from her without warning, waves of white hot pleasure engulfing and smothering her every nerve. Body arching into a perfect bow, a cascade of moans and gasps tumble from her lips with every swipe of the Doctor’s tongue. 10 months of pain culminate in a single moment of pure unadulterated pleasure, and Yaz _sobs_ as her body thrashes under the Doctor’s ministrations.

Yaz isn’t sure how much time passes before she finally stops shaking. When she comes to her senses, the Doctor’s still nestled between her legs, her fingers inside Yaz. She carefully pulls them out, loathe to cause Yaz any discomfort while her cunt is still hypersensitive.

She looks up, and their eyes meet for nary a full second before the proverbial dam breaks, and they’re both desperately clambering towards one another, seeking any modicum of comfort.

They settle against the pillows, Yaz’s head nestled in the crook of the Doctor’s neck, limbs wrapped tight around each other. Exhausted as she is, Yaz summons all her willpower and forces herself not to think about the last time they’d been with each other like this. Her days of obsessively counting the seconds are over. Tomorrow, they’d have to talk. Tomorrow, they’d have to begin the painstaking work of piecing together the shards of their broken relationship. Tomorrow, the clock would start ticking down again.

But tonight? As far as Yaz is concerned, tonight time itself has frozen, and nothing else exists except for the rhythm of four beats that sound like home.

**Author's Note:**

> spesh thanks to the discord squad for giving me enough motivation to get off my ass and finish this <3
> 
> tumblr - @softyasmin  
> twitter - @maxmaxaphone


End file.
